


Psst, Hemmy! There's Your Hiddles!

by Jamie_Anya



Series: Kingdom of Hiddlesworth [3]
Category: Marvel Avengers Movies RPF, Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office and Vineyard, Eventual Fluffs and lots of Love, M/M, establishing hiddlesworth, hilarity drama and sentiments ensue, married when drunk, office smut and there's a lot of it, plot-twist!, self-acceptance and jealousy, slow dances with roses and charms, tension building, two gorgeous men fighting over tom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-01-24 08:42:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1598666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jamie_Anya/pseuds/Jamie_Anya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris wakes up in a luxury hotel only to find out that he had slept with a man who happens to be his new boss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. English is not my mother language.

~*~

 

_In and out for hours that followed. He felt a sensual thrill, this unfamiliar distraction._

_He couldn't remember who he invited in, his memories were like blurry film-strip passing his eyes seemingly irrelevant to be retained. But there was a flash of a person writhing beneath him, the air suffocated the two with exotic smell of fragrant candles, wine and hot sex. Beautiful exposure of skin, drawn-out moans, gasps and cries._

_The fair skin was coloured blushing pink and red, covered in lustrous sweat as he pounded into the ravishing body._

_The physique was perfect. Different from any other._

" _...I-I'm--" a voice gasped._

_Blunt nails were raking and clawing on his chest; gripping the person's hips, he latched his mouth on the deliciously exposed neck. Tongues licking and trailing, ghosting his mouth against the person's thin lips. Cute whimpering and the shuddering breaths, his low growl and the wet, reddened skins slapping onto each other._

_Wandering hands wounding around his neck, tugging on his hair as he thrust fiercely. The alluring moans and the gasps on his ear tied him wholly. Through the crowds of blur, alcohol and heat - he could feel something new rising in him. This new sensation of roughness and alien warmth as the desirous voice hitched with a cry of his name._

_And the quick brush of cheap metal band against the pad of his cold finger._

_"...C-Chris!"_

Chris groaned.

He hated morning headaches. The pain itched and bashed his brain incessantly, it had always been a torture and quite murderous to the point that he couldn't remember what he had done the night before. The alcohol in his system would linger for days to weeks, it felt like his brain was about to explode. He turned when the glaring sunlight that flashed through the gap of the thick flashed against his face. Morning light, an early wake-up call that reminded him he needed to get up and puke the alcohol out of his churning stomach.

But the bed was surprisingly comfortable, and his side was embraced with a pleasant warmth. Chris' lips pulled into a contented smile, his left hand patting against cold skin beside him. He felt tingles of air brushing on his naked chest, rhythmically puffing. Once. Twice. And the counting continued.

Since when did his pillows ever hug nor breath air before? The gears in his brain then started to turn and creak dustily, though his eyes remained shut. He hoped the morning was nothing different. Nothing bad, he wished. But there was a distinct feeling at the back of his head that today was 'slightly' awkward than his usual hangover. Chris took in the odd presence that seemed to cling itself on one side of his body. There was a hand resting on his abdomen, what felt like a leg curled over his beneath the comfy comforter, a ball of soft curls on his shoulder and the slow breathing of 'somebody' sleeping.

Chris' eyes snapped open, his mouth gaped in disbelief at the sight of a naked male sleeping soundly beside him. There were scatters of roses, wrecked room and the overwhelming dash of excessive alcohol and wine. His mind went haywire, he wanted to scream. Confusion dragged him stunned as his mind scampered all over the place. He tried to recall perhaps his last night's fondue, and who was this guy? He couldn't see his face, and from the look of his unruly curls, this man didn't look like anybody from his university.

The guy was a complete stranger. He could be wrong, but he didn't care. He wanted to get out of the place as soon as possible.

Despite feeling incredibly disgusted and angry to find out that he had slept with a man, he caught himself loving at how comfortable this 'cuddling' was. His hand that was resting on the man's forearm, felt surprisingly nice and pleasant - smooth skin, fairer than any girls that he slept with. The blond curls smelled of strawberry shampoo, and fragrant soap. Though there was that aftermath scent of faint sweat and rough sex.

He sniffed, it must have been him.

Cussing himself, he just realised that his morning length was crusted with dried cum, one of his fingers was numb and that he wanted to throw up. The room they were in though, looked irritatingly expensive for a one-night sex after drinking. Or was it really just some wild copulation?

Knowing that paying for the room would cost a dent in his pocket, Chris grumbled, "...Dad's gonna kill me."

The stranger then shifted, his fingers curled as he buried even closer and fit himself into Chris' built. Chris wanted to slip away and pretend that this was all just a part of a bad dream, yet his body wouldn't listen to him. He waited for a few more minutes, until the stranger stirred again. Chris' heart was hammering painfully against his chest when the man's hand brushed up to rest on his ribs. There was that moment and the sigh of content before realisation came invading his mind that he was certainly resting on Chris' - a guy - nervous chest.

He snapped upright, groaning at the sudden pain that shot up to his head. Chris watched him silently, noticing that he was admiring the man's perfect back, he bit his tongue. Now was not the time to think about that! He took in his fancy surroundings; of the lamp-post and the chair that fell onto the carpeted floor, his and Chris' articles of clothing strewn all over and their tangled legs beneath the lavish comforter.

"...Oh lord," Chris heard the man's whisper. The stranger spotted something on his trembling hand, and Chris wondered what.

His head slowly to turn to Chris' pleading face, for him not to scream or kick him out of the bed. Before anything happened, Chris could hear him swallowing thickly as hell crashed down on them.

Thus, the whole occupants of the luxury hotel were awakened by the two men's screams.

 

*

 

He had his arms folded in front of his chest, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as his eyes scrunched deep in his thoughts. Pacing back and forth in the grand hotel's lobby, Chris ignored the stares from the bystanders that passed him by. He hadn't buttoned-up his shirt yet nor zipped his pants, he was too caught up in his headaches that teemed with bitter understanding of one fact that he hoped it was just a dream.

After all of that soaring screaming, Chris jumped out from their crumpled bed - remembering the rose petals that flew away as he grabbed random shirt and pants before darting out of the room. He was fortunate enough that he had snatched his own clothes, but 'unfortunately', he was still barefooted in his 'father's' hotel.

No wonder the room he slept in looked severely familiar.

His father was one of the most respectable figures in the world, accomplished so many businesses built and inherited, and he too completely knew not to disgrace the family's name. Chris recalled of the time he discovered an escape route out of his contained life, this rowdy side of reality. And he loved it, or so he put it that way. He always told himself that he wanted to be free, wished to have a very common life to work for money to eat and pay the rent. But there was nothing he could do, his parents cornered him too much. Being the middle child was everything, they said.

Chris could just ask the attendants to get his belongings back, but there was a string of possibility that they might report this incident to his parents. Most of him thought it was rude, and quite risky as his father didn't know anything about his drinking, partying and sleeping-around. He would be screwed if that did happen, and they were all looking at him so strangely. Some with smirks on their faces, smiling while shaking their heads and whispers that followed with knowing nods. Were they talking about him?

"...Damn it, Chris! What the fuck did you do? You fucked up everything...! You fucked a guy!" he muttered under his breath, slapping his forehead as he scorned at the irritating stares and gossips of confused attendants and hotel guests.

His mind was in chaos! He felt like crying.

Chris remembered his buddies taking him to an expensive bar at the far end of the city last night. The regulars would name the bar as 'Eden', the only place of freedom where one could lose himself entirely with just a single shot of their homemade cocktails. The name stayed on and the owners eventually changed the original title to Eden's Bar. He'd forgotten which street but he did take a lot of heavy swigs of extra beers - celebrating the end of his university years, and having their usual Saturday night party at a completely different atmosphere. Chris vaguely recalled spending his time flirting with girls, whistling at his friend's dancing and another's drunken, slurred singing. And there was that bit of a blurry memory of him crashing his mouth to someone else's lips.

Then, everything went blank.

He let out a long sigh, slumping down on a sofa in the rich lobby as he hid his exhausted face in his hands. He knew he was scaring most of the high-classed guests, some even reported to the hotel's security - but he was the hotelier's son, and they couldn't arrest him no matter how much they wanted to. The letters 'V', 'I' and 'P' marked prominently on his forehead. Chris thought about how his father would react if he learned that his son had a notorious reputation in this part of undisciplined world. Disgraceful, his father would call it. Sinful, uncontrollable and not normal. Well, it was himself who decided to go through this part of the road, thanks to his parents.

He scratched at the numbness of his left ring finger, he frowned at the fading red mark. Had he put something on them last night? If he did, what and where was it?

"Hey..." a hesitant voice startled him.

Chris raised his head up and met a unique pair of blue eyes staring worriedly at him. He practically gawked up at the stunning man, despite the look of his cheap black jacket, light blue t-shirt, jeans and sneakers. The way the man dressed himself didn't blend with the luxurious mood of the hotel, he was out of place. Yet, he was there standing in front of him and there was no one to kick him out.

But god, this man took his breath away. For the first time in his life, did he ever feel a sense of genuine attraction toward a man. Just imagine the begging and the pleading look on the stranger's face if Chris--

"Umm..." the man started, snapping Chris out from his trance.

He shook the dirty thoughts out of his head, cursing himself yet again that it was not the time to think about that! Though the familiar, damp blond curls reminded him of the stranger upstairs. The stranger, Chris was delighted at his company. His brows furrowed awkwardly, it really was him! The man looked about his height, perhaps shorter, thinner with long legs and he was...

...Adorable.

He placed Chris' boots near his feet, before hiding his trembling hands in his pockets, "I'm sorry about last night, Chris... I shouldn't have done what i did."

_'...C-Chris!'_

That voice. It was the same like the one in his dream.

"H-How'd you know my name...?" Chris tried to ask politely, but his tone sounded rather demanding. He failed to ask the man of something that he had said, and he forgot.

He hoped that the worse didn't happen, he never mentioned his name to any of his one-night partners. He didn't tell the man his name, did he? There was a pause after that as Chris slipped his feet into his leather boots, the man bore a disheartened look on his face. The quiver on his lips, and the staggering blinks of his eyes. Chris could tell such expression, the stranger was shocked somehow by Chris' question.

Why?

"You told me last night... before you took me here," he murmured as his hands gestured the luxury hotel. At the same moment, did he spot a lone rose petal near the reception. Noticing the faint blushes on the man's cheeks, he quickly avoided Chris' shocked stare.

Shit.

 

*

 

Upon returning to their room, Chris noticed that the man stayed a few paces away from him. Hands remained in his pockets, eyes lowered to the floor and the slight fidget whenever Chris caught him glancing. Then their cheeks would heat up, embarrassed. Chris wondered if it meant something authentic or not, he'd never been this shy toward a man before and he was certain that the man thought so too.

After he had his shower, washing away all traces of last night's intimacy, he invited the seemingly young stranger for breakfast. Though awkward, he didn't refuse Chris' offer. The man didn't even run away, he just stayed on Chris' sight. Chris thought, to protect his reputation amongst his friends, he probably had to threat the man for silence - no matter the cost. Ignoring the burn on his tongue when he sipped his morning tea, his eyes darting away from the beautiful man who was sitting joylessly in front of him. If he could call a man 'beautiful', words couldn't define this attraction Chris had for the man's perfection. He was jealous of the stranger's commoner aura, how he didn't fit into the classy surroundings. The messy curls, his puffed cheeks and the brows that frowned sadly as he kept his eyes down on his untouched English breakfast.

Uncomfortable in last night's clothes, and the babbling stares from the other hotel guests in the splendid restaurant, Chris tried his best to keep a sober face instead of his painstakingly dreading hangover. He groaned inwardly at the suggestive ogling of the female guests and waitresses, eyeing hungrily at the adorably stiff stranger. He felt angry somehow, this mixture of emotions - anger, frustration and jealousy - confused him much, but thought back that the awkward man belonged to no one, even him at the first place.

Now that he thought about it, the stranger hadn't told him his name yet.

Placing his morning brew back to its saucer, Chris lowered his voice as he plopped in three cubes of sugar into his tea, "You haven't told me your name yet... O-Or maybe you did last night, but i have to tell you that i am so sorry i don't remember a thing."

His act of trying to break off the uncomfortable silence ended up terribly. He needed some help on handling this unwanted situation, he didn't know how to take care of an ambiguous man! Chris smiled sheepishly when the other bit his lower lip, perhaps a nervous tick, or hesitation.

Upset, maybe.

"...Tom."

Ah, the name suited him much. Had a spring of elegance when spoken. Though the name rang a bell in his head, where had he heard that name before? It sounded fresh, recent. The name could belong to anyone else, but Chris spotted the trust in his tone. It must be his real name.

"Umm... What about your age? You look quite young."

"...I'm older than you, actually," Tom murmured, fidgeting uncomfortably on his seat as he refused to look at the handsome man on the opposite seat.

Tom knew his age? Did he leave his wallet open?

"How old?"

"28."

Oh, great. Just four years gap, that was a relief.

Clearing his throat, he tried to rip himself from the responsibility of the morning and his curiosity of last night's series of unfortunate events. He failed to ask Tom something important, but what? Chris kept glancing at the suspicious and incessantly worried stares the attendants were giving him, they were troubled at their hotelier's son and his guest. Being a rather spoiled son since young, he himself was surprised that he would still feel guilty taking someone's virginity despite his countless of experience with beautiful girls. Eating their breakfast silently, Chris looked over at Tom's clothes - why was he even doing in an expensive bar?

"I know you probably don't want to talk about this... 'this'. Believe me, i feel you," he said, looking at Tom straight in the eyes, "But can you tell me what really happened last night?"

Just from that, Chris was exposed to more of Tom's confusing expressions - he looked hurt and dejected. Then, there was a flash of tacky gold ring adorning Tom's ring finger. He was _married_.

"I-I'm not quite sure... My mind's all foggy," Tom apologized, fiddling with his fingers tensely. Chris couldn't brush out his shock at the ring, the genuinity he felt moments before was a complete let down. And Tom continued, "...But i remember spending my time with my friends. Celebrating my ma--... _Birthday_."

Choked on his tea, Chris coughed as he wiped his mouth with his napkin. Cerulean eyes running wide, and stuttered, "W-What?"

"My birthday, was yesterday," Tom quietly repeated as he blinked his watery eyes, before picking on his omelette and hash browns, stuffing them into his mouth.

Chris could sense Tom's frustration, his once proud plan of threatening him to keep everything a secret soon lost in his mind - he just destroyed someone's supposedly memorable moments. Tom could have saved a lot of money to celebrate his birthday at Eden's, and that ring... There was a huge possibility that Chris would be the cause of Tom's marital breakdown.

Damn, what should he do?

 

*

 

He was determined, at least, for them to stick together and thought this matter through. Chris would help Tom in any way he could, to solve the upcoming problems as friends, perhaps. Nothing more.

But.

Tom was missing by the time Chris got down to the lobby, he was nowhere to be found and that the attendants didn't see him leave. But he kept hearing the hotel guests rumbling about the morning news : ' _disgusting!_ ', ' _was it even legal?_ ', ' _i hope his parents are happy_ ' , _'i thought he already has a partner_ ' and ' _let the society deal with them!_ '. The gossips stopped altogether when Chris passed them, they were probably talking about him. What did he do? He glanced at the front page of the newspaper held by a guest, but was disinterested on taking a second look.

Should he feel thankful that Tom decided to forget the humiliation that happened between the two of them, or ponder a bit that he had drunkenly wrecked and crashed Tom's birthday? Either way, the heaviness of foreign guilt began to weigh down on his shoulders - urging him to find Tom and apologise to him.

This feeling, he never felt anything like this before. He was all confused, drained and burdened with fault. It felt so alien. So new. There must be something entirely different in Tom that made Chris so captivated, and that ironic responsibility came dawning on him. Yes, he wanted to be responsible as last night was not Tom's fault. He thought, where should he start his search?

"...Chris?" the hotel manager, a family friend, called him from the reception desk. He said, "Your father, sir. He's asking for you."

Chris grunted, turning his heels back to the elevator, "I don't wanna talk to him right now, Samuel. Hang him up!"

Why must his father call him today? He couldn't have known, could he? If the call was about Chris' first real job, then the old man could have called him the next day. Chris thought, just leave him alone and let him have his rest.

The next day, Monday, Chris pleaded Samuel to never report anything to his father about the chaotic events between him and Tom. The manager frowned cheerlessly at him, the wrinkled face that told him all of the answers to his questions - but Chris couldn't bring himself to ask him why. Samuel promised, only if Chris stopped his tiresome hobbies of knocking girls and perhaps, 'men' too. Chris agreed, he was sure he wouldn't have a lot of precious time to spend at bars, drinking and made his way for free sex. Now that he got the job he wanted, he should focus on that first.

Samuel patted his shoulder, and said, "You are a good man, sir. But you're going on a very bumpy ride..."

Chris wanted to ask what Samuel meant but decided that he should leave it be. Driving home to his family own condo, he noted that he only had an hour and a half before going for his first job at the well-known Empire. The huge industry's motto was 'a place of dreams, creativity and rolling success'. Chris could associate himself with that, as he proudly linked himself that he possessed his own share of dreams, had an ample of skills and certain that he was considered successful to break away from his family's grasp. The pay at the remarkable Empire was strikingly good, the work was something that he'd dreamed of as a child - to unleash his creativity for everyone to see. Also, he had always wanted to be independent from his family. But his life, no matter what he aimed for, he would end up working and depending on his family. Eventually.

Risking to take a fresh shower in full hopes to clear his mind of Saturday's unfortunate fondue; he changed into the ash coloured suit his brother bought for his 24th birthday. ' _A good luck charm_ ', he recalled of Luke's cheer, ' _very_ _pricey_ '! A few sprinkles of Armani and combed his hair neatly. Grabbing his laptop and essentials, Chris left to start his first day of work. Fifteen minutes journey in his BMW sports car, he parked at a nearby cafe owned by a friend, hoping to keep a very low profile if he knew how and jogged his way to the Empire's second headquarters.

Chris felt quite proud that he was accepted into the second HQ of the great Empire with London being the first, the job was to die for to a man like him. He winked at the female workers that he passed by and was glad at their blushing reactions, as he was greeted by the Empire's lovely receptionist named Kat whom he had previously flirted with.

Kat tipped her head to her right, "Well, you're looking really handsome today!"

"Thanks for the compliment," Chris smiled, flashing a glitter of his attractive pair of eyes, though he failed to ignore yet another wave of strange glances from the employees there.

Typing his name on her keyboard of his attendance, she fixed her eyes on the monitor and sneered, "What a hangover, huh?"

He silenced himself, and snapped his head to the receptionist. He murmured skeptically, "Yeah..."

Before Kat was about to say something that he was dying to hear, of the events of his one-night, he was dragged away by the head of the department he would be working under - the laid-back and composed, Robert Downey Jr., saying that he was already late for work and now he was flirting the charming Kat. Arriving on their floor, Chris was welcomed with open arms by the whole members of his new marketing department with cheers and congratulations.

"Welcome to your new home, Hemsworth!" a man voiced out.

"He literally means it!" another laughed.

Robert patted on his back as he showed Chris his cubicle, just beside his boss' office, and said, "This, my young friend, is your desk. And i will continuously leave you with piles and piles of my dirty work for you to work on along the days of your misery."

"I think i can live with that," Chris grinned, earning cheers that said he was the first one who accepted Robert's challenge, "Give me all your best shot."

The Empire was one of the world's most elite companies, stemming out from the notorious ranch bet that eventually turned to business and trade. He remembered being briefed that the Empire had three Presidents and six big bosses, and Chris wondered if he could ever meet at least one of them. Yet the work seemed genuine enough to Chris' eyes, and was the first job application that accepted him with open arms. It was a wonderful feeling, despite of what happened for the last two days.

Would he ever meet Tom again?

As Chris waited for Robert's answer, the automatic door slid open behind the both of them and revealed the same man that his mind expected him to find.

Tom...

Not in his cheap attire of commoners and unruly curls, but he was dressed in his slim-fitted long coat and suit looking jaunty, hair brushed elegantly and the smell of expensive cologne. The aura he had right now was different from the last time Chris saw him, he was not out of place. He stood and blended completely in the midway of superiority and inferiority.

Tom was reading down the addresses on the bundles of mails in his hand, the morning's newspaper tucked under his arm as he stopped a nearby desk by the automatic door. He spoke, "Robert, can you do me a favour?"

Chris frowned when all of the employees stood up straight, and stopped laughing altogether. He realised that Tom was someone in a much higher position to be able to own this much respect as a young man. And there was still that cheap ring on his finger. Robert then noticed his new staff member's fluster and perhaps repudiation written on his face, and thought something must have happened. Or maybe, something did. As he waved the others to return to their respective cubicles and continue their work, Robert called, "Hey, Tom? I want you to meet someone!"

There was a slight mockery in Robert's voice, and Chris' stomach churned again. The memories of shoving into Tom's expectant entrance returned, and it was dreadfully embarrassing when he thought about it again.

"Who is it?" Tom said, looking up from the mails as his eyes landed directly at Chris' awkward stare. Robert sneered at Chris, lowering his tinted glasses and introduced the two frozen men, "Chris, this is our President, Mr. Tom Hiddleston, the owner of the grand Empire. And Tom, this is Chris Hemsworth. Your new 'employee of the year'."

He heard quiet waves of voices from those who were present on the marketing floor, the new 'scoop' of a heated story between the boss and his worker. Chris heard them saying, ' _no wonder i saw him from somewhere_ ' , ' _is that really him?_ ' or ' _ooh! this is gonna be good!_ '

"...H-Hi," Chris swallowed as he tried his best to curve a smile. He noted the paling colour of his President's face, the slight stagger as he dropped the mails to the floor.

Tom's eyebrow raised, and gasped, "...Huh," before he fell unconscious.

Fuck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really know how to put it into polite words but I highly recommend you guys to read back chapter one... I'm really sorry. The original plot was extremely cliché and I had to change it, 'cause I want to excite you guys with something interesting, you know? 
> 
> \----> How I see our three babes throughout this story. I obviously don't own these gifs - i forgot where i found them. 
> 
> For Chris :: http://37.media.tumblr.com/a1989561aa7e854e4890d0a3a4c839fc/tumblr_n33wdqS8yu1r5ynioo1_500.gif
> 
> For Tom, I imagined him blond :: http://37.media.tumblr.com/1ef09a05c8ff48afb70ac4751d8e0021/tumblr_mn0htsjvbm1rz0ey2o1_250.gif
> 
> Like this? It suits! :: http://37.media.tumblr.com/0e164827bf740ca59bc7305a1404ed4e/tumblr_n8m2z79P7T1qe8a0fo2_250.gif
> 
> And for Zach :: http://media.tumblr.com/41ab1c51a258bed68d4de6f0b6646a6e/tumblr_inline_mhxnc6HmFh1qz4rgp.gif
> 
> This chapter is beta'd by the awesome ChargerWarrior! xDD Whoot! Mistakes are mine.

~*~

 

Chris breathed out heavily.

He never wanted to be involved in a such tiresome episode. There were so many things to accomplish and complete at the moment, rather than waiting anxiously outside a suite occupied by the person he had trouble understanding each other's obscure feelings. Though, Chris was sure that he was entirely adamant he would never tell anyone what happened between them, hence the sex, just to save his own ass - of course. But somehow he tumbled across a few who hinted they already knew, that they had 'spotted' and got suspicious. Many did, perhaps.

Where did they find out? Were they present on Saturday at Eden's? As far as he could remember, the bar was nearly dead by the time he got there with his friends. And it was only when he consumed a lot of drinks did the bar was glutted with people. Nonetheless, due to the bits of memories he dreamt about the other night, Chris guessed that he would forever feel blameworthy and sorry for Tom. For all he cared about was his arrogant pride.

_Ignore him, Chris._

_Forget him, Chris._

_He's nothing to you. Leave him be, Chris. He's just a stranger._

Was he really? His mind told him the things he wanted to hear and do, the things that suited his persona even more rather than having the notion of being encased in his own frantic shell. But his heart, his traitorous heart reminded him that it was not right to leave Tom hanging all by himself. Hanging from what, and since when did he start to feel this sympathetic toward a stranger? If he could, Chris would slip out from the mess right then and there - but this time, he clearly had something to do with the issue in question. From where he was standing, two of Tom's fierce bodyguards were watching him closely. They were taking advantage of their larger build and heights to make the rest look small. Suspicions were written all over their faces, austere eyes fixed on him like he was one of their captives which irritated him the most.

Chris' feet were glued to the floor - he didn't fear them - he was just held down by his own guilt and that his pair of legs were yelling at him, ' _don't be a coward!_ '

Robert in the meantime, was already wary of him and it was in the most insulting way he could ever imagine. Chris couldn't escape from where he was told to wait, the iron-grip stare chained him like a dog when Robert pulled him into the car ambulance. They quickly drove the unconscious President to the nearby hospital; Robert and the medic who attended Tom were completely shaken - terrified by the sight of red dampening the back of Tom's head, staining the top half of his expensive coat, flaming crimson among the blond mess. So much blood, as it also coated Chris' own pair of trembling arms when he carried Tom downstairs to reach to the ambulance.

The act of worry scared him miserably.

His first day of work was supposed to be plain and simple, fun and productive. Make some friends, have a girlfriend or two and just be his dreamy normal self, his thoughts reminded him. Chris admitted that he was less-observant about his surroundings, so he wouldn't know what happened. But after meeting Tom, his gut screamed at him that a change would take place someday. He would never get to do what he liked, no more parties and getting drunk. He didn't want to change, he was already comfortable with his current self - but was he really happy? Seeing Tom again made his heart pound painfully against his chest, he didn't know what he was feeling. Should he say he felt relieved that he wouldn't have to search far for him? Or should he feel angry that Tom left him all of a sudden without discussing their problems? Neither one of those questions answered his perplexed empathy, it was something else. Though the air between them was awkward, Chris knew that the both of them were thrilled to see each other - because of that, it confused him a lot more.

And he had the urge to apologise.

For what? Should he apologise for ruining his birthday then? That reason was not strong enough to be able to speak out truthfully to Tom. There was something hidden that he wanted to say out loud to him. But was Tom telling him the truth about his birthday? Chris was quite skeptical about that, yet he couldn't acknowledge it since there was barely any memory after he crashed his lips to a stranger's. That ring, by the way... Tom was married. Perhaps in just a few moments more, Tom's 'wife' would be coming in with her tear-streaked face of mixed emotions. He felt green with envy, it was wrenching his heart. So painful.

The President's wife must be so beautiful, fitting in with the attractive aura of her husband's. Chris didn't know that the second HQ's President was married, when was it? It should be widely known to the public, chased by the media since Tom and the whole of his family were like walking celebrities. He'd always known that the Empire's three Presidents never liked showing their faces to the media, even refuse to publish their family background for the world to acknowledge though very few of the public was aware of the family's hidden story. Still, Chris should be ready as there was a high possibility that the President's wife would run amok at him. And the journalists would have a raise in their pay for a sizzling, hot topic.

Media, Chris thought. He did recall blinding flashes in his memory, and the deafening voices that followed after. Curious questions were asked just before Chris entered the emergency area with Robert as the nurses rolled the President into the surgery room. The media demanded to know his name and...

" _Sir! Leaving the intoxication aside, were your vows mutual?_ " shouted a reporter.

Vows? What vows?

Pacing back and forth outside the President's private suite in the hospital, Chris groaned inwardly. The dizziness in his head from days before lingered still, the memories of fucking the unexpectedly owner of the Empire stayed fresh in his mind. He had lost count to how many jugs of beers he had consumed, but there was that strange drink. A brightly coloured cocktail, sky blue with a sweet taste that dally between lime and dragon-fruit. What was it again? Did he order that? Who paid the bills? Yet again, his employment in the second HQ must have been quite unexpected for Tom, and Chris didn't mean to shock the wits out of the President. The two of them were just at a wrong place and bad, bad timing.

His phone buzzed, the slight tremor finally stripped him out from his numb senses. Glancing over at Tom's bodyguards who stood alert at the start of the quiet corridor, the hem of the intersection as they scanned for any suspicious looking individuals. The President was just so damn important that there was a possibility that a mere employee like Chris would be hunted down. And he vaguely remembered Robert telling him to be careful when going outside, the chaos a few hours ago had started to grow its inquisitive tails around him. When Chris checked his phone - he had 48 missed calls and 5 texts. His eyes wither at his phone screen, it must be so damn important to call him like this. And they were all from his family, his brothers, his mother, his _father_. He couldn't bring himself to return their calls, nor read the texts, his mind was too caught up with the problematic stakes he was facing.

Plus, he just didn't want to talk to his father as he was afraid that he might blurt out the things that happened that night and thus, afraid that his father would call him a disgrace. The unfortunate fondue affected him so badly, but what made him so restless and confused was that he wondered if all of these following events were good or bad.

The suite door swung open, and Robert slipped out quietly. His tinted glasses stuck neatly in the pocket of his suit jacket; splotches of blood on the cuffs of his sleeves, his untucked blue shirt wrinkled - the poor boss looked exhausted. Chris could hear the beeping noises of a machine, and the rasping sound of somebody breathing painfully. Was Tom awake? His wound wasn't that bad, was it? Chris stopped near his boss, rolling his eyes at the annoying stares the bodyguards were tailing at him.

Clasping his forearm in a nervous tick, he asked carefully, "How is he?"

Robert sighed, scratching the back of his head, "Hmm, i wouldn't say he's okay. Technically, he's fine... Just terrified, i suppose. But i gotta say, he hit his head pretty hard, you know?"

They both leaned their tired backs on the wall opposite to Tom's door, their silence accompanied by the ambience of the quiet corridor. The chairs looked uninviting, threatening to smother them to sleep somehow. The dimmed golden lights from the midday's glow penetrated the shaded windows unsuccessfully - generating the mood for the moment in sheer bleakness. The moment of truth, Chris thought, he had a feeling that he would get all of his confusion settled very soon. There were only a few doctors and nurses tending the patients on this restricted floor, yet not all of the rooms were occupied with sickly patients. This level looked deserted, though the whole floor was lavishly embellished with the aura of subtle richness and solitary.

It felt disgusting especially for him. Glittery life filled with greedy money and jewels didn't suit him much.

"Well, shit..." Chris grumbled, rubbing his face with his palms as he slumped down to the floor. He ran a hand through his now unkempt hair, staring blindly at Tom's repelling door.

Folding his arms across his chest, Robert pondered as his relaxed pair of eyes noted on the familiar posture Chris was showing. He was sure he'd seen that behaviour somewhere before. He mused, "Now that i think about it, new guy... Why do i feel like i've seen you from somewhere?"

"... The world's a small place, mate. You could've seen me everywhere."

"That's true," Robert shrugged as he nodded his head, yet the comment didn't convince him. Not a moment later, the boss' brows furrowed, brooding deep in his thoughts, "No, no, no. Your face is surprisingly fresh in my head, and that could only mean you're somewhat _important_. Let me think... It starts with an 'E', and it's a fancy place. Does that ring any bells?"

Chris' head then shot up to him.

"Eden..." Chris murmured in shock, frowning at Robert who had a devious look on his face. The bar's catchphrase was ' _to get loose and wild!_ ', though somewhere along the lines, he had a hunch that he did loosen himself and ran berserk but it ended up being completely ridiculous, somehow.

"Eden's Bar... You were there on Saturday?"

"So, it really is you. Man... It's a bad omen to have you working for the Empire then, Chris. The media's been hunting for the Prez's hubby since yesterday," Robert shook his head in discomfort, sinking his hands into his pockets.

Hubby? Shouldn't it be his 'wife'?

Chris frowned, keeping his eyes fixed at his boss' incredulous secrecy, "What do you mean 'hubby'?"

"Husband, the time when you--" the roguish boss repeated. When Robert received nothing from Chris, his whole expression turned tight-lipped, he rapped, "Oh, c'mon! Don't tell me you don't remember all the whacks you did with the Prez?!"

Hiding his face between his arms and his shoulders sagged in shame, this was the first humiliation he'd ever received. After all that had happened, he couldn't care much about first impressions anymore. How did he forget all of the important bits of the problem? What did he do? Chris raised his head in exasperation, tugging his hair as he groaned, "Really, i don't! I couldn't remember a single thing, okay? I must've drank too many, or hit my head or something..."

Now that he mentioned it, the back of his head did hurt. A bit.

Robert grimaced at the ache in his head, massaging his now sore temple. He sighed, casting his eyes down at the sullen young man, "...Well, you're currently in an ugly situation that involves the peepers, your future and the Empire's reputation. You two made a terrible mess on Saturday and we need you to sort it out."

Peepers, a good nickname for the ravaging media.

"Sort what out?" Chris asked again, but then an absurd thought flashed through his mind as he tried to relate, "Wait, wait... You said that the Prez got married on Saturday. A hubby, then the whacks he and i did...? I'm married to him?!"

It sounded utterly ridiculous! How, exactly?

Before Robert could retort back to his new employee, they could hear footsteps jogging down the hallway as a man with short messy brown hair, dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt ambled pass the two grim bodyguards easily. Chris had seen the newcomer at the second HQ before when he went for his job interview, he recalled that the man was one of the big bosses' secretary. He didn't look like one, but Chris shouldn't poke his nose in someone else's business.

Panting, he halted beside Robert as he quickly huffed to catch his breath. He didn't seem to notice Chris who was propping his elbows on bended knees, caught in his mind trying to recall back his forgetful fondue. The man breathed, resting his hands on his hips, "The media's killing me, man! I even had to hide under someone's skirt just to get in here... How's Tom? Is he in there?"

Chris spotted, both Robert and the secretary were on first name basis with the Prez. It was envious though and he was curious to know why. Yet, he felt that the air just didn't feel very right. There was something else other than the secrets of being married to a man, and there was a hazardous possibility that the media already got their hands on the news. In fact, the news was already out and that Chris was too oblivious about it.

"Yep, the poor kid's resting," Robert said, regaining back his usual composure. He glanced down on Chris, then back to the worried secretary and asked, "Chaos sewed up yet, Jeremy?"

Jeremy rubbed his eyes, it seemed that his current task was too heavy to be lifted, much to his chagrin. He relayed quietly, "Not yet, Mark and Scar's are taking care of them. And i'm telling you, man, Anthony is really pissed. He practically told me to hunt down the guy in the newspaper so he could scourge his ass."

He huffed, silently listening to the angry rant from the secretary, Jeremy. Chris closed his eyes, the guy in the newspaper must be him. So they did catch them on Saturday then, was he drunk that time? Or was he still sober? From just catching the strain of the two's exhaustion, trying their best to prevent the media from getting to Tom, Chris was aware that he had committed a lot of errors and should take responsibility for everything. Chris thought again, was it really him that started the whole mess?

"Y'know, i was in the middle of a tensing conversation with this guy 'below' me, by the way," Robert hummed as he pointed, gesturing his hand to Chris that squatted down on the floor near them.

"...Hey," Chris greeted flatly, seemingly disinterested and taken aback at the confusing, and hard to believe news Robert had hinted.

When Jeremy lowered his eyes to the shrinking Chris, his face widened in familiarity, "Whoa! I know you! Aren't you the--"

"Sadly, he couldn't remember. His reason? Either he drank too much or hit his head... I would prefer the first one over the second, because that's more of a polite way to say i'm not convinced," Robert spat, the tone of his voice sharpened at his last two words. He sneered at the alert bodyguards, quietly ushering them to continue doing whatever they were doing as he frivolously waved his hands.

Jeremy snorted, squatting down in front of Chris, "...Man, with you here, you kinda saved my time, you know? We'll at least get to finish the problem as soon as we can!"

His expression stayed stiff and noticeably stressed, Chris rumbled, "So, it's true then? What Robert said, that i married the Prez?"

"Uh-huh, and i don't think it's entirely consensual though... Maybe. We just have to finish what we can before _he_ gets here," the secretary nodded his head, his hand patting Chris' shoulder. It was comforting, he needed that.

But, wait. Who was he talking about? 'He'? There was another?

Checking Chris' appearance, scanning his well-built figure, Robert chipped in, "But let me break the news what the girls think about you, handsome." He took out his phone, scrolled and tapped, and commented on one article he had, "They said, _'He's a tall, dirty-blond hunk who just graduated from Harvard. Curves a lazy smile on his handsome face that can kill thousands of hungry virgins. His mysterious pair of blue eyes that screams for freedom. A matching pair with our lonely prince!'_ Quite an accurate analysis, yes?"

Smirking at Chris' embarrassed grunt and at how his head sunk low, Jeremy nudged him by his elbow, "That's how fast the media can get to you. And they kinda twist and confuse things a bit, as you may know..."

"You're in a tough situation, Chris," Robert clicked his tongue, slipping his phone back to his pocket. "Girls are crazy about you, pairing you with the Empire's adorable brat and a rival on your tail."

"A rival?" Chris asked, his brows furrowed.

Jeremy then placed his hand on Chris' arm, mouthing at him to ignore the given statement. He pondered, and frowned at Robert, "Were you the one who told 'him' the news? From Chicago to Moscow, a problem like this wouldn't get into world news, you know?"

"It's Anthony. You know how much that old man favours him," the boss said abruptly, seemingly irritated of the said 'old man'. Chris didn't know who they were talking about, the air between them grew tense - they despised of both of the men in question, obvious annoyance etched on their faces.

He wanted to ask them his share of questions but upon hearing a growing raucous at the intersection, the incessant shouts of the nurses telling the crowds to keep quiet - it was then that one of the bodyguards called out to Robert. A tinge of loyal security and frantic vexation in his voice, straightened their backs as if they were huge boulders, "Sir, peepers got in!"

"Sons of bitches... Chris, get inside!" Robert muttered, grabbing Chris up by his arm to his feet as he quickly shoved the confused employee toward Tom's suite. The ticking seconds deemed to be frozen, catching a glimpse of Jeremy engaged with dispatching the current issue to the person on his line. The secretary's voice was raised as distinct noises and flashes of cameras filled the semi-dark hallway, trying to get through the brick bodyguards. How in hell did the media get the permission to enter this private floor?

The boss cussed at the swarming number of reporters shouting to get a better look at the mysterious 'husband' of the Empire's heir. He kicked Chris through the now open doors of Tom's room, and shouted, "Stay in there and please, don't do anything stupid!"

Chris winced at the slammed doors as he moaned at his sore back, Robert's leathered Gucci shoe might have imprinted itself on his suit jacket. Dull muffles followed seconds after, the familiar crackling of the key-lock and the bright shimmers on the bottom of the doors - it reminded him yet again, to stay in the suffocating room until things were settled.

In the room that was still in use by Tom.

"...I don't think this is a good idea, Rob," Chris mumbled.

He couldn't hear the exact questions that were asked, there seemed to be a force preventing him from touching the door handle. But he was sure that both Robert and Jeremy countered the reporters' persistent questions by answering either, ' _The President's resting, i suggest you to leave_ ' if they could still keep their calm, or ' _Fuck the hell off! Don't you know the word privacy?!_ ' if they had already lost their cool.

By the time Chris turned his head to take a good look at the suite - of how grand it looked with splendid decor of golden and brown colours; rosy outlay of furniture, two spacious adjoining rooms which belonged to the patient's sleeping and the sitting area respectively - he finally realised that Tom was very wide awake.

The Empire's President was in his white t-shirt and green flannel pajama pants, he looked normal, like the first impression he'd thought of Tom at the hotel - summing up with his disheveled blond hair and unique gaze. His dressing was wrapped around his forehead, he probably had some stitches yet he didn't look like he was in pain. Despite that, the puzzling aura returned once again, Tom seemed like he didn't belong to be in this rich suite.

His colours suited somewhere in a class like Chris, aiming to break out from his cage and enjoy whatever like could give, just by his side. And just by thinking of this, he had butterflies in his stomach.

Hiding his blush, Chris stuttered, "Uh... H-Hey."

"...Hey," Tom rasped, clearing his throat as he stayed put near the window, his hand clutching blindly on the curtain.

"Robert kicked me in... Uhmm, the peepers--"

"I know. And thank you..."

Chris curved a smile, but it faltered as soon as he laid his eyes on his bare hands, his sleeves - perhaps the front of his 'pricey' suit. He saved Tom, didn't he? Catching his own reflection on the mirror beside him, he looked incredibly beaten. More than how Robert and Jeremy appeared to be. Chris remembered scurrying to Tom, placing a hand at the back of Tom's head to stop the bleeding, carrying the weightless President down the flight of stairs when the elevators were cramped with late employees. The ambulance couldn't get their way through the heavy traffic, and that Chris had to race down the street to get to the stranded rescuers. He recalled what he had said when he ran down the stairs, Robert was right behind him and the unconscious Tom in his arms, ' _Tom, hey! Stay with me! You're gonna be fine! Tom?!_ '

He must have looked silly right now, the suit his brother gave him was already ruined with Tom's dried blood - though both of his hands were already washed, Chris could still feel the oozing thickness of red fluid painting his skin. But Tom looked fine enough to even walk out from his bed, Chris was glad it was nothing worse. He was once a capricious bastard, but now, he felt a sense of strong responsibility to Tom and he couldn't escape it. Chris wondered, these new responses to his life were like strangers to him. He didn't feel distraught when he had those countless one-nights with other cheap girls, he couldn't care less of their fancy names.

Tom, he was more that just a confusion. He was something else, and Chris had an instinct that he _once_ viewed Tom as someone else other than a one-night partner.

Noting on the returning colours on Tom's face, Chris swallowed the lump in his throat, "Okay... So, umm, how're you feeling?"

"A bit lightheaded," Tom murmured, moving his shaky hand to touch the bandage on his forehead. "How about you...? I hope the media doesn't pressure you much?"

"I just found out actually. Mr. Downey and Jeremy told me..." Chris sighed, hiding his twitching hands in his pockets. He was sweating so much though the conditioner in the suite was cold, perhaps he was nervous.

"I see," the President said, averting his gaze to overlook the scenery through his window. The city was mysterious, Chris was surprised at how close his condo was from here. All locations that he knew were all confined at one place, except for his father's hotel and Eden's Bar.

Yet, Chicago was indeed beautiful. A wonderful place after home, perhaps.

Keeping his gaze on the quiet President, Chris mentally slapped himself awake. He swore he literally saw flowers floating in mid-air when he caught himself admiring Tom's attractive presence - the colour of his pallid skin like classy white irises, his shaded blushes like angelic cherry blossoms, his pair of gem coloured eyes and the adorable mop of short semi-curls. He was indeed beautiful, Chris honestly confessed, to which yet again if the word 'beautiful' ever suited a man. He was one in a million. And would Tom see the same in him?

He tapped his shoe on the carpeted floor, wondering if the moment was a suitable time to apologise to this attractive, prim and soft-hearted person?

"...Look, i'm sorry about this morning. You have to believe me, i didn't know you're the President of the Empire! A-And on Saturday too... Just that--" Chris paused, desperately trying to search his correct form of words.

He saw Tom fiddling with the tasteless ring on his finger, the colour was neither pure gold nor bronze - just plain, varnished metal. And yet, Tom seemed to cherish it, or maybe it was just an illusion. Chris thought, if they did get married, where was his own share of ring? In his dream the other day, he recalled of possessing one and there was still that numbness on his ring finger. It was questioning that the news of being married to Tom didn't anger nor shook him much, there was a perchance that it was only him that felt this way.

"...It's kinda hard to grasp all of this, you know? Married when drunk," he chuckled sheepishly with a brief shrug, "I wish we didn't, and none of this would ever happen..."

Chris sensed a huge blow from what he had said to Tom, stunned was etched all over his face. The broken breaths, the quiver of his lips and the wide stares that lowered to the floor in sheer betrayal. He didn't mean to make it sounded too harsh, he thought Tom would feel the same. Through the President's questionable features, it was the opposite to what he was expecting.

"B-But you--" Tom stopped.

Frowning, Chris had the sudden urge to press the answer from him. Though it would be a bit harder since his traitorous heart couldn't take Tom's millions of emotions that he had shown. Chris wanted to see more of them, yet again, there was a gut feeling he once viewed Tom as someone else other than the President of the enormous Empire. But, what was Tom trying to tell him? What held him back?

Should he call him by his first name or 'President' instead?

"...Sir?" Chris said carefully, but noticed that the address pained Tom even more.

He quickly shook his head, and stammered, "N-Nothing... There's a spare shirt you can use, and the newspaper's on the table. You can read them if you like."

Damn.

Watching Tom bravely put up an obvious front as he staggered and brushed pass him, his weak steps shuffling to the suite's bedroom and hid himself beneath his covers. Chris, petrified on his spot and was down in further guilt, replied quietly, "Yeah..."

He moved toward the table where Tom had pointed, spotting the said newspaper. The front page showed him the things he didn't quite expect, the picture the anonymous reporter had snapped on Saturday revealed no signs of being drunk. Neither of them did, they looked happy and Chris found himself loving the way Tom's eyes glitter with exhilaration.

Chris had a feeling he wouldn't get to see that smile now with his troublesome brain. Flopping down the couch, he rubbed his twitching temple as he heard quiet sobs from Tom's room. They must have had a history before their fondue, or maybe Tom was completely humiliated by him. Chris sighed. Deterring his thoughts from thinking any more about the newspaper, the striking title continuously echoed through his ears.

He scowled, shutting his eyes as he propped an elbow on the arm rest - hiding his eyes, hoping that he wouldn't get to see anything anymore.

" 'Vows at Eden's. Mysterious man and the Empire's heir tied the knot'..." he mocked the newspaper's title, closing himself out from all noises and sights. "What have you done, Chris...?"

 

*

 

The hours that tagged after, throughout his whole day in the suite - there was still no news about the outside and the dull muffles still remained. Practically, Chris had been taking care of the President, whipping healthy meals that he could think of in the packed fridge since the nurses and Tom's doctor were unable to attend to him with the swarming peepers waiting by the door. He made it as a price for forgetting his memories he might have shared with Tom : following the instructions of Tom's doctor through the phone in the suite, changing the bandage with a spare roll in the drawer, checking Tom's temperature and gave him his medicines after eating.

He had served Caesar salad and a glass of orange juice for Tom's six o'clock dinner. It wasn't much, and Chris found that Tom's share was half-eaten. It probably didn't taste that good, but one shouldn't complain in this situation.

When Tom returned to his bed, hadn't bothered to talk to Chris since then, Chris decided that it was time to check his phone as he was too chilled to his bone about switching the telly on. He was astonished at the number of calls his mother had been trying to reach him, but if he called her, his father might answer him.

Instead, he scrolled down to the texts he received from Liam. A good brother, though competitive at times, and a good friend too. Perhaps, Liam was the only person in his family that understood him the most. He smiled at his little brother's amusing messages, and Chris wondered when was the last time he had a conversation with Liam.

_'MAN! I thought you were just joking! I didn't know you swing that way!'_

So, the news did reach them.

' _You dug in a nasty gold mine there. 'Mine' meaning full with mine bombs. Asshole, you're in trouble! D: <'_

_'How are you going to straighten this out, wise guy?'_

' _Dad says he's going to Chicago to meet this 'spouse' of yours.'_

_'Give me a call if you need any help, okay bro?'_

Chris sighed, he did need help at the moment. To clear the thoughts out from his head, he needed someone to share the bleak sadness with. Now that he thought about it, did his university buddies abandon him? Where were they? They should be calling him if he was all right or not! Groaning, he was certain that there was no real friend in this world - disloyalty was the first to go, arguments the second.

As he was about to dial Liam's number, his mother called him first. The ringtone drumming and singing made him feel excruciatingly miffed. Chris cursed quietly, running his hand through his hair, "Shit..." And answered her call as he expected for the worst.

"Mom, hey," Chris faked a cheery voice and the small, brief smile on his face while his hand fixing the shirt that he borrowed from Tom. It didn't seem to be the President's size nor shirt, it was bigger as it fit into his built.

_"Chris! Oh, finally! Are you all right, honey?!"_

"Y-Yeah, yeah, i'm all right... Just stressed out, i guess."

_"I heard the news! What did you do?"_

He winced at the quipping tone his mother had, and groaned, "Mom, listen... I'm not in the mood for lectures right now."

_"Chris, you've married your father's best client!"_

"...What?" he breathed.

_"Didn't you know, dear? Mr. Hiddleston has been investing in our vineyard for months now. With your marriage to him, don't you think it'd be a good idea to mark your name in the Empire?"_

Now, that was what he would call shocking. The sudden outburst of greed coming from his mother, perhaps, his father had his say in this too. Maybe, they had planned to steal the Empire away from Tom's grasp or maybe he was just thinking too much.

Too caught in his shock, Chris felt irked with his mother's jubilant attitude for the supposedly depressing moment, "Mom, I--"

But his mother cut him off, " _He invested quite a lot, and because of him the demands of our Paradis are soaring! I'm not saying i'm against your marriage, honey, but at least we have something to expect from you... Your father is very_ proud _of you._ "

Proud? His father should feel disgraced. Disgusted, at least. 

Chris had always hated intentions, even more whenever his parents found an opportunity to stick the 'Hemsworth' name on somebody else's prominent title. It was a deceitful act, and he never liked it. And this was one of the reasons why he wanted to be free from his family's grip. But was his marriage to Tom legal? They should have a license somehow. Chris thought that he should go visit Eden's Bar and ask the owner, Gregg, the exact story and probably his father's hotel too.

Samuel didn't sell him out to his family about the thing between him and Tom, did he?

Then, he finally saw Tom walking hesitantly toward him - his eyes kept glancing at the doors, numerous voices remained heard by the two men.

Chris cleared his throat, "Hey, mom, i gotta go. I call you back later."

_"Don't worry about the media, darling, we'll--"_

And he hung up. He couldn't take much of his parents' sudden adoration toward him. It felt disgusting. Chris raised his head to Tom who was now standing at a good pace away from him, the couch he was sitting on was hard and uncomfortable now that Tom was near.

Tom murmured, his hand unconsciously scuffing on his arm, "Your mother?"

"Yeah," Chris nodded, he didn't want to hang this conversation now that it was Tom who was brave enough to start it. But he had to choose his words carefully, and try to make his way to understand his confusion. And perhaps, Tom would tell him what they were like before he'd forgotten his memories.

Placing his phone on the coffee-table, he started, "I have a feeling that you remember what happened the other night... Why won't you tell me?"

The bearing between them now was disappointment, from Tom and from Chris himself. Chris watched how Tom would cast his eyes down whenever he felt dejected, and the bite of his lower lip.

"...It saddens me."

His thoughts took the better of him as Chris rose from his seat, ' _no, don't cry'_. He stood inches taller than the President, this difference in height was familiar if he could recall, but all seemed lost to him. He whispered as his brows furrowed in worry, "About what...?"

"I thought Saturday supposed to be a great day for me and--"

"Hey, i'm sorry about your birthday, okay?" Chris cut him off, suddenly realising that he had taken a step closer to the other and his hand was reaching for Tom's.

"No, that's not it! It was never my birthday!" Tom snapped, tears were brimming in his eyes as he shoved Chris' broad chest. "You were completely sane when you married me! You promised me freedom, Chris! Y-You promised--"

They did have a history together, why was he so dense to understand it? It wasn't a drunken marriage. Never a drunken marriage. So he loved Tom before all of this happened then... No wonder he had all those instincts, Tom was his lover. Spotting that neither his whole family nor Robert and Jeremy knew about the relationship other than their worldwide fondue, he was a secret lover then.

An affair.

All made sense now. 

Seeing Tom burst into tears that streaked down his blushing cheeks, his broken sobs and the closed fists that hit against his chest. Muttering ' _it's all your fault!_ ' to him, Chris spontaneously wrapped his arms around the trembling President. Keeping his gentle hold on him despite Tom's obvious struggles, Chris rested his hand on the back of Tom's head delicately and hushed him to calm down.

He buried his crying face on the crook of Chris' neck, listening to Chris' pained apologies. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry."

And Tom returned an uncertain hug, clutching on Chris' borrowed shirt. And Chris despised himself for not remembering a single thing, and there were still so many that he didn't know.

"...Please help me remember. I can't stand it anymore!"

"Chris..." Tom murmured, giving a small nod.

When the sound of the suite's double doors unlocking, police sirens and the hooting calls of an officer as he order the crowds out of the floor, the two broke apart and together wiped the tears out of their eyes. Chris kept his hold on Tom's hand. Yes, it felt very right and Tom finally looked pleased.

Then one of the doors was pushed open, a black-haired man in a black three-piece suit entered with ragged breaths. Chris had never seen him before nor did he feel any familiarity in the stranger, as he noted on the man's height and the light scruff on his face. The stranger's eyes were flared in rage as he saw the two of them together, as an old man who emitted with such superiority entered with the clacks of his cane and the egoistic of his hat.  

"Z-Zach! Anthony!" Tom stuttered, gripping tightly on Chris' hand.

The man called Zach stomped forward, pulling Tom's free arm toward him as Chris' hold on Tom got loose. He was angered at how the man wrapped his arm around Tom protectively, like he owned the President.

"Hey!" Chris shouted, stepping toward the two but halted when Zach brought Tom farther from his reach.

"You better get the fuck away from him, okay dude?" Zach threatened, pointing his finger at the scowling Chris.

Tom voiced out, grimacing as he tried to release himself from Zach's tightening hold on his wrist, "Zach, cut it out!"

"Cut it out? Tom, the bastard stole you away from me!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currently working on 'A Servant's Love Story Chapter Seven' for those of you who are still interested and also 'Hide and Seek Chapter Two'! 
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3 <3


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